Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes
by Tiramisu and coffee
Summary: In year 1984, Arthur was born. Completely AU, Human, different pairings. Rating will be bumped up. None beta-read.
1. Birth

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

Birth

Who is who: Sophie (Mother), Charles (Father), Cameron (Scotland), Niall (Ireland), William (Northern Ireland), Jonathan (Wales) and Arthur.

Word count: 1491

**1**

She had not been expecting a fifth child after having given birth to her fourth child in the age of 36, but fate was stranger than fiction and in an age of 42 she got to know the knowledge that she, in fact, was pregnant for the fifth time in her life.

In 1983, she told her husband that they waited for another child. Of course he had taken it with a happy smile, a kiss on her cheek and announced to their children, the oldest already in University, that there was a new addition on the way. Their youngest child, at an age of 11, had looked at them with big, round eyes and asked; "Where is he?" So it was at that Sophie explained and they all were thoroughly disgusted (the older ones, not the youngest) and it was like that.

Even with their children's approval for a fifth child in the family, Sophie was a little bit scared, to say the least. She was in a quite an age to get a child, and there was a bigger chance for the child to be – not so well. Taking risks was what she had been living with her whole life, seeing as she had been born in the middle of the Second World War, and her husband having actually having had a proper childhood in those years. So she knew of risks, and she was willing to take them.

Her mother was 65 years old, and that old lady had been properly telling Sophie that she was ridiculous by getting a child in the age of 42!

"Sophie, dear, this is just stupid for a woman your age." The woman would say and stare at her daughter, always sitting with her knitting stuff.

"Tell me," Sophie said in reply to her mother's "concern" for the birth of a fifth child, "why did you get a child at 39? It can't be any different, mother!" Her mother pursed her lips, ate some lemon drops while knitting the sock in her weary hands.

"42 is not the same as 39, dear." Her mother said, pushing those annoying glasses up her nose, and Sophie sighed deeply and turned away from the annoyance that was her mother.

Of course she could not expect any support from her mother on this, seeing as she might be 42 while pregnant, but when the child would be born, she would already be at the age of 43. She breathed heavily, doing whatever she needed to do and made an effort to sort through the books in the small library that the two women sought out whenever having their weekly talks.

By dinner, they would pull out of the room and they would get down to the kitchen. The nagging from her mother, Sophie just could not handle how much her mother was of an annoyance as she spoke of how it was ridiculous.

Her mother would seat down at the end of the table, and Sophie would always direct Niall and William to sit by their grandmother, much to their complaint. Cameron, on his monthly visitation, sat next to his father, her husband. Jonathan would always cling to Sophie whenever the grandmother was visiting.

"Mum, she's looking at you," Jonathan whispered in his usual worried voice, and he clung to her side and she could only speak to him, asking him to seat himself and act properly.

Dinners were always uncomfortable with her mother at the table, and every Sunday of every week, the woman visited, and the two of them were in the library talking. Months begun to become shorter it seemed, and Sophie's belly begun to swell with the pregnancy. At first she was a little shocked to see the bump, but it became a normal thing, even for her.

Jonathan, her youngest, was always around her, curious and looking at the belly with such big and round eyes. "When will he come, mum, when?" and Sophie knew by those words that the next person in line to be born was not a girl, as she wished for, but a boy. She loved the pregnancy and the doctor was always there by a telephone call away.

Christmas came and went, and her children were ecstatic over presents and the likes, and the snow in the yard that they happily played in after her pestering on them to dress properly. "Take on your cap, and remember your mittens!" She would always call after them in the morning after breakfast.

On New Year's Eve, she was stuffed beyond the peak to eat more and she welcomed 1984 with open arms, and she loved the feeling of being showered in love by her husband by midnight and they both fell to sleep around 1 AM.

January that year was not so eventful and Sophie fell into a habit by sitting in the library reading books all day, sometimes taking a break to sit down in the kitchen with a cup of tea while talking with the butler, who was all happily talking back to her.

When February Sophie sat most of the time inside the nursery, rubbing her stomach in a loving, caring way while humming lullabies, having caught up with the time that the child was soon to come and it was a scary fact. She was prepared, but there were a lot of things that needed to be prepared.

When Valentine's Day came she was eager, a date with her husband (which she had wished and longed for) and the solitude with him in their bedroom, she was such in a love rush that it was getting faintly ridiculous for her to keep up. For her, Charles was perfect. Beyond gorgeous at an age of 46, and she could not help but fall for him every single time he was her sweetheart from the late 50's.

On March the first, their youngest child became 12 years old. "He is getting quite old, now, right?" and the two of them would laugh heartily and feed the child his cake, getting the presents over with and got their kids back to bed. By 10 PM, their oldest son called and wished the youngest a "happy birthday". Jonathan was a squealing machine after that and would not fall asleep until Cameron had sung the birthday song to him over the telephone. By 11 PM that night, they finally got him to bed, while Niall and William sat about doing their homework. Their life was completely normal, Sophie could call it.

The rest of March went with bliss, and the first half of April was calm, the packing and readying the bag for the hospital, and the nursery already done and ready for the newest addition.

It was on the night to 21st of April that Sophie was going into birth. The hurrying and the panic was nothing compared to how Charles had been when they had been in their mid-twenties when they got Cameron. She was tired, cranky and in a lot of pain, but she could bear with it as Charles called her mother, and they went in hurried quickness to the hospital.

They got to the hospital and there was only a blur from there on. Sophie knew that she had shouted mean words at Charles, but the pain was practically ripping through her and she just could not bear it without cussing so much and gripping her husband's hand throughout it.

At 5 AM she threw him out of the room and she just wanted that melon of a child out of her already and she cursed to herself about having actually becoming pregnant in the first place, even if it needed two for that tango.

Around 11 AM, one bristling morning of the 21st of April on the Queen's birthday, the sound of screaming from a child could be heard, and the nurse and doctor chorused out that it was a healthy boy. Ten fingers and ten toes, and Sophie were beyond exhausted and almost collapsed, but took the squirming boy in her arms.

Weird at it seemed, the boy blinked up at her and she swore she could see a small halo above the child's head. Shaking her head, smiling and loving the child already, she wanted nothing more to do than lie down with him and stare at him all day.

A shared bliss between her and her husband (who she had let in again after the child getting out), and she was currently so happy. Even in an age of 43, it was such a happy encounter.

"What do you want to call him?" She asked Charles, caressing the kid's cheek with a finger. Charles sighed, smiled and kissed her temple.

"What about Arthur, after my father?" And they decided, with the newborn baby in their arms that he was to be Arthur; Arthur Kirkland, after the father to Charles.


	2. Foreign

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

2. Foreign

Characters: Arthur, Francis, Sophie (Arthur's mum) and Giselle (Francis' mum)

Arthur's 11 months old, Francis is one year old.

Word count: 1126

**2**

Time took in at the Kirkland estate as the twins' graduation from the school closed in and the University became a big topic inside the house. Sophie, being the same as before; strict, but caring, shuffled her oldest kids to school and by lunch time, Giselle would come over with a giggling one year old on her arm.

"Bonjour, Sophie!" Giselle was a smiling lady, married to a French chef and a great friend of Sophie, although they had their periods where they fought like cat and dog, rather than discussing lowly in between themselves.

"Good day, Giselle!" Sophie called from the kitchen, where she stood and poured some tea. The small sounds from the living room were calming on her, seeing as Arthur was actually laughing over something.

Giselle was taking off her coat, letting down her giggling toddler, who threw off his cap and ran into the living room with much enthusiasm. The two women laughed as they heard a small; "Bonjour" from inside the living room, hearing Arthur's confused sounds.

"Let's get the tea ready and then – let's sit down and talk in the living room." Sophie smiled, hanging the coat to Giselle up and taking her mittens to place them on the pretty shoes Giselle always wore when visiting the Kirkland family.

"That sounds lovely!" Giselle said with a clear and of course a happy voice and she walked out to the living room, greeting the sight of Arthur sitting with his teddy bear in his hands, staring big eyed at the one year old before him, who spoke in such childish French.

"Francis has begun to sound quite properly French, Giselle," Sophie said when she came in with two cups of tea, and Giselle grinned and leaned over the table when Sophie seated herself.

"A little secret;" Giselle begun, snickering a little as she looked over at her son and Sophie's boy, "He listen to his father singing in French." Sophie nodded knowingly; pressing the cup up in Giselle's waiting hands. "It's horrid sometimes, the songs." She shook her head and looked at her son.

"When did you son start talking?" Sophie asked, drinking her tea quite carefully, trying not to burn her tongue.

Giselle seems to be in deep thought before shrugging; "Just the day before his birthday. Why? Are you worried that Arthur will be late with talking?" She looks at her friend, and Sophie's cheeks gets a faint red colour to them.

"No! No, I just..." she avoids Giselle's eyes, but who can she blame? She was worried, alright, worried for Arthur. "Just curious..." She ends, drinking another mouthful of her tea, and Giselle laughs a little.

"Well, you are not so good at telling lies, my friend, but I can see your worries." The woman nodded, taking a sip herself from the warm beverage and smiled sweetly to Sophie. "I was worried myself that Francis wouldn't speak, but..." she giggles a little and looks a bit embarrassed, "but Auguste said I need not to worry, he would talk. And you would not believe me if I say it, but the day after; He spoke!" She laughed heartily at that, and the two women can hear Francis count from one to three.

"_Un, deux, trois!__" _The childish voice spoke as carefully as it could and Sophie looked over, seeing Arthur place his hand on Francis'. "Mama et peré," Francis said and Arthur dropped his teddy bear and opened his mouth, calling out what made Sophie stare at him in disbelief.

"Mama ej pjeré!" He clapped his hands and squealed with laughter, and Francis laughed with. For Sophie to hear Arthur really _talk_, and not baby talk and making noises, she was a little disappointed that is had been in French out of all languages.

"Did you hear that?! Sophie, he talked - and in French too!" Giselle clapped and made a happy kind of laughter, and Sophie felt strange and foreign, while her child who had heard English every day from everyone; His brothers and his father, and from herself... but still he had spoken in French, repeated what Francis had said.

"You know what this means...?" Sophie said, looking over at her friend, grinning, just for her case. Giselle nodded eagerly, placing her cup on the table and leant back in the couch, smiling so brightly at her friend.

"Us remembering them these things when they get older, right?" Giselle fondness of remembering people of their sweetest or embarrassing moments were sometimes scary, but Sophie liked that the lady wanted to remind their respective children about Arthur repeating after Francis.

"Well, if you'd want it any other way, then sure – I'd like us to remind them of this when they get older, though." Sophie smiled and settled to get another cup of tea for herself. Giselle went over to the children and played with them, sang to them in the sweetest tone in French, her voice spinning out like it was made to sing.

Sophie went out in the kitchen, her shaking hands as she settled the cup on the counter and a shakiness going through her as she knew that her boy had just spoken French and not English, which she had hoped for – hoped so strongly that he would speak in English, but no.

The foreign feeling in her heart did not settle down, at all. It catapulted itself inside her, made her simply enraged. She was upset, angry and so frustrated. Why did not anything go as she wished? She felt a lurch inside of her and she ran, quickly, to the bathroom.

She heard a worried voice call after her as she fell to her knees and felt a rush inside of her as she braced herself for it. The gross feeling inside of her as she puked, gasping between each lurch in her stomach and she felt so downright ugly, where she hung with her head, losing what she had been drinking.

"Sophie...? Are you ok?" Sophie hacked and the disgusting scent and the taste lingering in her mouth, made her lose her stomach again. She felt soft hands brush away her hair from her face, holding it while another hand rubbed slow circles on her back.

Sophie breathed heavily, feeling like she wanted to cry at herself and her pathetic feelings that surged through her, making her just knowing that the actual fact was that she was unsure and unsafe with herself.

"Sophie, have you been at the doctor's, and how many weeks have it been since your actual date of menstruation?" The word to Giselle made her pale, and she stood up on shaking legs, flushing the toilet and brushed Giselle's hands away. She could not be... pregnant again?


	3. Sister

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

3. Sister

Characters: Arthur, Francis, Giselle, Sophie, Alice (Arthur's little sister)

Word count: 1045

**3**

Arthur was colouring, dragging the red colour across the paper effortlessly, and trying to draw himself a dragon from one of the stories that his mama had told him when he was getting dressed for the day. He loved the red colour, and he loved his mama's stories, even though she would huff a puff of air whenever he asked for a story.

He giggled and hummed for himself as he drew the dragon, and he could hear the screaming from the top floor reaching down to him, but he could not really care. It was mister dragon and him, right now – and the red colour pencil he held in his hand.

He remembered that the dragon was a fearless dragon who ate up bad people, and that made him grab the black pencil, scrawling a stickman before taking the yellow colour up and made hair sticking out from the top of the person's head. Of course it reminded him of Francis, and he could only laugh, humming lowly to himself.

There was yet another crying wail from upstairs, and Arthur dropped the pencil, stood up on his wobbling two year old feet and waddled like a little duckling to the door. His parents had only closed the doors to the "dangerous" or "prohibited" rooms, and Arthur wandered towards the staircase, crawling up them, step by step. There was the "ground floor" as William called it, the "first floor" as Niall had explained and the "second floor" or the "top floor" as Jonathan had said at the dinner table some weeks ago. He clambered up the stairs, trying his best to reach the top to the first floor, licking and smacking his lips as he climbed the mountain of steps.

The front door opened and a cheerful; "Bonjour!" met his ears. Arthur, half-way up a step, turned his head and saw Francis undress himself as he handed over the cap to his mother and the mittens was clipped to his jacket.

"Hullo," Arthur said from the staircase, and Giselle said a simple "hello" back, before pushing Francis in Arthur's direction.

"Where's your mother, Arthur?" Giselle asked, and Arthur pointed towards one of the "prohibited" rooms. "Thank you."

Francis joined in the climb, and Arthur heard the door to the "prohibited" room close, making him just slightly shake his head, continuing to climb upwards.

Arthur never heard Francis ever speak, well, in that language that he talked, always some kind of gibberish. He had repeated after him before, but what was the use?

The two made to the first floor, and Arthur crawled a good distance from the staircase that went down before he stood up on wobbling, unsure feet. "Où?" Francis asked after a while, before Arthur started on the second flight of stair, planning to get to the second floor.

"Alice," Arthur simply said, and climbed slowly upwards. He was breathing quite hard and his small heart was thudding rather harsh in his chest.

The small "oh" from behind him, made him realize that he had understood the question Francis had asked, and that made him shake his head and pout a little, as his mother had talked about pride in their language. "_English, sweetie_," she would say to him, as he was getting washed up for bed, "_is the main language in the world. Don't be ridiculed into speaking French_." He would have forgotten that, had it not been for his mother to mention this so many times.

The pair climbed the stairs in silent. Their short feet and scrambling hands were just so as they rolled onto the last step, and finally being at the top. The "second floor" was ridiculous. Crawling as he was the same one-year old again, he shuffled towards the nursery that he knew that Alice lied in.

He could hear his mother's voice in the back of his head tell the story about Alice in Wonderland, and he was completely taken by that. Alice was Alice from that story. She was a blonde little girl, when he realised what the difference was between his mother and father (girl and boy), and he could see that Alice, lying in her bed, was just what he had come for.

"Alice~," He is a giggling two-year old on wobbling feet as he run weirdly over the floor to her. He looks through the "cage" and looks at her, smiling. Alice makes a sound, quite a happy sound, and Arthur cannot help but grin even wider.

"Bonjour, Alice," said Francis timidly, and Arthur looks over at him and he cannot avoid smiling even more. Knowing full and well that Francis only had an older sister, he was proud to say that he at least was a big brother.

Alice reached out her small hand towards Arthur, and Arthur snuck his hand in to her, holding onto her hand. Of course Alice was yawning and getting settled for yet another nap (after being unheard from their mother) and Alice was falling into sleep, clutching onto Arthur's hand.

Arthur promised himself, in an age of two (the rumoured age that he simply would not remember it later on) that he would keep a watch over Alice, keep her safe. He loved her too much to even give up on her. He would keep her safe, chase the bad men that came close to her and he would hold her hand if she needed someone.

Francis was quiet and Arthur looked over at his "friend" (it was their mothers that kept calling them friends, although Arthur did not know what friend even meant), and saw Francis smile at the sight of Alice, and Arthur felt even prouder to be her big brother (he had heard this term between the older twins and Jonathan), and it was what he was; older than Alice by one year, or something like that, seeing as she had been born just weeks before his birthday.

Arthur released his hold on Alice's hand and walked, wobbling like a little duckling, to the big teddy bear in the corner of the room. Francis followed, him too in a wobble fashion, and the two boys settled themselves on the teddy bear and when minutes had passed by; they were fast asleep.


	4. Innocent

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

4. Innocent?

Characters: Arthur, Francis, Sophie

Word count: 1033

**4**

There was a sound of something crashing and then there was shouting. Sophie looked up from her newspaper, took a look over at Alice to ensure that the toddler did not run off. She placed the newspaper down at the living room table before making her way out in the foyer, where the crashing sound had come from.

There, in the middle of the foyer, the vase that her mother had bought her on her 40th birthday was lying in shards on the floor. Her eyes racked back and forth until she found them, hiding behind coats and jackets. "Arthur... Francis..." She said, scolding slightly, "what did you two do?" She asked, and walked up to them.

Arthur flapped with his arms, shoved Francis away and stared up at his mother with big, round eyes; "I didn't do it!" He said, wanting nothing but to run away from his mother's smirking and low laugh.

"Of course you didn't," she said sarcastically, "but you are both at the scene and were hiding. I am sure that you guys must have done something to my vase." She said, looking over her shoulder at the shattered vase. Oh well, could not blame them – she had planned to throw it out anyway.

Arthur played with his fingers, looking around – not at his mother, do not look at his mother – and whispered out an almost not audible sentence; "I might... have done it?"

Sophie rested her hands upon her hips and said; "A-ha! I knew that, you little bugger. And what do you say?" She looked at him sternly, and Arthur looked at his feet, biting his bottom lip, almost on verge of crying.

"I am sorry, mum." Arthur mumbled, shuffling his feet. Sophie laughed and seated down on her knees in front of the boy.

"It's alright, Arthur," Sophie told her son, "just go and take out the broom from the closet, and no –" she hold up a finger as he opened his mouth, "we will not ask our maids to do the cleaning. You made the mess, so you will clean it up." Arthur sulked off to the broom closet, and Sophie turned her attention to Francis.

Francis stood there, his hands clenching the white shirt he was wearing.

"Et toi, alors?" Sophie asked, and looked at him.

"I am sorry, lady Kirkland." He said, looking at Sophie with big, round and such innocent eyes. Sophie could not hold herself and laughed a quiet laugh before ruffling Francis hair.

"By fairness, Francis, call me Sophie. It makes me sound old when you call me 'Lady'." She laughed, and Francis looked at her with an expression of confusion, which switched quickly over to some sort of happiness.

"Okay!" Sophie smiled at the bubbling reply and shooed him after Arthur, standing up by full length and looked about. She knew she could have made the maid clean it up, but she had to learn Arthur that when breaking something, he had to fix it or clean it up. Either or. She was raising a son, a son to become a man one day, and she did not want to be viewed upon as failing at making men out of her boys.

The two of them, Francis and Arthur, came in together, fussing about with the broom. Sophie smiled at them and thanked them when they handed it over, and she spared them at least this one and swept the broken vase together.  
"Arthur, could you go and get the old newspaper in the living room?" And Arthur went obedient after it, and Sophie could feel a proud feeling bloom in her chest as she saw him walk to the living room like a good child.

Francis squatted down and looked at the broken vase with quite huge eyes. Sometimes Sophie wondered if that child's eyes would pop out of his head if he was not careful enough.

Arthur walked in the newspaper, and Sophie took it, collecting the shards. "Why don't the two of you go into the kitchen and I will make you two a cup of warm chocolate and some biscuits?" She winked, and Arthur grabbed Francis hand, hauling him up and the two four year olds ran eagerly into the kitchen, their excited talks in between each other; Francis talking eagerly in French and Arthur responding in English. The two of them made a really odd couple, Sophie mused, when she was done collecting the shards and called for the maid and asked her to vacuum the foyer.

"Lady Kirkland, you mean the whole foyer?" The maid asked, looking around the spacious room. Sophie nodded.

"Yes, the entire room. And when you are done with that, can you set up Arthur's room? I think Francis is going to stay over tonight." The maid bowed and said she would be on it right away, and bustled away to the broom closet with the broom that Sophie had used.

The two boys were sitting at the kitchen table when Sophie entered the kitchen, hearing French and English bounce around the room, laughter and jokes going about. Seriously, Sophie thought, those two would probably die from embarrassment if she told them these things in the future.

When she had gotten the warm chocolate done, presenting each of the boys a cup, and laying out some biscuits, she left them to attend a wailing Alice. Alice was a fussing, fretting child, Arthur had been quiet – but screaming at times like when his brothers had been bothering him or when he had done his business, or simply was a hungry chap – and Sophie loved Alice, though, since she was her only daughter, but sometimes she wished that Alice was a bit more... quiet.

The chattering from the kitchen was humouring, as the boys told each other jokes in respective languages, and the screaming laughter was always something.

By the time the clock struck four, and the maid had vacuumed the foyer and fixed Arthur's room, and Alice was getting her nap, a barging sound from the foyer made Sophie flinch, at least when she heard a curse and a crashing, and she could only guess who was home.


	5. Cat

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

5. Cat

Characters: Arthur, France the cat (Nice in this story) and Jonathan (plus the maid – let us not forget our lovely maid)

Word count: 1028

**5**

He had a cat, which his mother had told him sternly and quite in an angry manner; "not to bother". The cat was currently lying in the window, lazing about in the sun, and Arthur could not help but giggle at the foolish cat that swatted his paw in the air in sleepy manners.

Cats were funny, weird creatures and Arthur loved mimicking their movements, sounds and made weird faces at them when they paid close attention to him. He was so taken in by the fact that cats rolled around, stared at him and scratched towards him, before running away light on their feet.

Not their cat though. He had heard his mother say that the kitty's name was Nice, not nice as in the English word nice, no, but in the city Nice in France. "_It may seem strange_," he had heard his mother say, "_but it's just that Nice was the town where I met Giselle_."

Nice was a big cat. Fat roll-up, long (ridiculous long) hair and was always prettied up in white, blue and red, and Arthur had started to call the fat cat for France, because the pretty ribbons where just so – well – _French_. It stunk on that cat like, wow, he could not believe it.

He poked the cat's nose, just for great measure, earning a tired "meow" out of him, and the cat blinked and looked confused up at him.

Arthur had always thought that the cat looked quite like his father when he was pressed up to his mother in the kitchen after dinner, rubbing her everywhere. He had seen it, and that cat had exactly the same look in his eyes like his father. Riled up and looking like it would pounce any second.

"You are so strange, France," he told the cat, poking its nose – much to the cat's annoyance. The cat rolled over and yawned before lulling into sleep again, his great interest in his owner being none. Arthur felt ignored, which made him kind of – well, kind of – angry, and he wanted to shout and yell, fret and chase that dolled up cat with its fat belly.

He stomped his feet and turned on himself, walking to sit down in his chair. He was bored – beyond bored. Mum was at the store with Alice, dad was at work and Francis – that idiot – was hanging out with that loud mouthed German boy down the street, and Arthur did not like him or his little brother, because they looked too scary (not that he would tell them that, and mind you, he was not supposed to be scared because he was four, and that was quite the age!) and he just simply sulked around in the house, bothering the fat cat and rolling around on the floor with his colouring. Of course the maid had made him a cup of chocolate and they had talked, before she had retired for the day at the toll of four.

Jonathan, his older brother, was boring; sitting up in his room, talking about _sheep_ with his friend from New Zealand. And that was freaky by itself, because sheep were scary.

He threw a colouring pencil at the fat cat, and felt so ridiculously angry at him for being such a lazy slob of a cat, who had the same face as his father when his parents stood close and had their lips pressed together (weird, but they did this and he was like – what even is this?), and he did not dare to question his parents anymore.

He went over to the cat, lifted up the fat, heavy cat and looked at the sour face the cat made. Ugly, was the first thought that went through Arthur's head, and he dropped the cat, who glared at him, biting his toe before running off as fast as his fat ass could allow him.

Arthur laughed after the cat, pointing and hollering after it, before dropping down on his bum on the floor and was bored again.

What was he to do? He could not "read" as mother always said she was doing when she held onto a "book", and he was empty for ideas about what to draw, and he could just not, no way, call to the scary family's place and demand Francis. Francis was not only his (and not did he think of him as "his", mind you – they were just play mates) and to mind himself – did he actually have other friends other than Francis?

He racked his head, but... nothing. He breathed out loud, slumped together like a sack of potato and just did not want to anymore. Everything was boring, and he was bored, and he had no friends other than Francis who talked utterly and only in French to him.

He felt annoyed, closed his eyes and wanted to scream – but that really was not like him. He was not a screamer, or a crying person, who wailed whenever it got boring or scary, or whatever. He was Arthur Kirkland, four years old and visibly bored in his bedroom and that was about everything.

Sitting up again, he decided when he opened his eyes, to find that cat and bother the hell out of it just for fun (even though his mother said _not _to bother him), but Arthur was bored and that was all he wanted to do, yes.

He stood up, and ran. He searched high and low, kitchen, bathrooms (except from his parents), poking his head inside Jonathan's room (earning a slap and a shove, and that infamous growl of him telling him to "get the hell out of there"), the living room, Alice's room, dad's study – and even, god forbid him – the library; The "prohibited" room.

He looks inside the library, and fine enough, on top of one of the shelves, a lazy cat, with a fat butt almost hanging over the edge, stares at him with a sour, comical face. "I wouldn't sit up there if I was you, France." The little boy calls up to the cat, which merely blinked at him and settled to sleep. Arthur frowned.


	6. Questioning

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

6. Questioning

Characters: Arthur, Sophie, Charles, Jonathan

Word count: 1157

**6**

Jonathan sits with him; they are reading a story book together. They are sitting close to each other, and Arthur feel kind of happy to say that his older brother was caring – although he would sometimes shout and yell at him, pushing and shoving him away.

Truth being, Jonathan was actually just reading him some "Arthur" story, and he felt the need to actually ask, his brother with the wide ass knowledge about everything, about a very, very important topic of his.

Babies.

He had been curious about this since, well, a little while. The topic was hundred percent important, it was in fact so important that he had not been able to sleep some nights, because babies just seemed to appear out of thin air for Arthur.

"John," Arthur began, and his brother stopped reading, placing the book away and looked at him curiously.

"Yes, what is it, Artie?" The two brothers looked at each other before Arthur broke the gaze in somewhat embarrassment.

"Where do babies come from?" Just as he said that, he heard his father cheer in the living room, and it seemed there was something happy to celebrate over. He could hear his mother cry loudly inside the living room and it made him wonder what happened.

"Babies..." Jonathan looked at him weirdly and pursed his lips, and poked Arthur's cheek. "Why don't you ask dad?" He said mildly, chuckling. Arthur shook his head.

"He is cheering, can't you hear?" Jonathan nodded slowly, and Arthur pulled a stubborn facial expression; "And you are the only one that can tell me this. You have wide knowledge about all topics." Jonathan began to redden in his cheeks, and Arthur was curious if he was alright.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," Jonathan waved his hand, and breathed out deeply, mumbling a faint "oh god why" and he settled in to tell him.

First there was a woman, and she had eggs in her, "Eggs? Like those we buy from the grocery?" Jonathan explained they were smaller.

Second on, there was a man, and he had semen (or easily confused as seamen, as Arthur simply looked at him like he was some kind of a retard), and they would, together with an egg from the woman, create a child.

Last and third, he explained that the man and the woman either could have a sexual intercourse (described in its most vulgar way, and Arthur gagged) or they could simply use other tools to get it inside without having sex.

"Ew," Arthur said, pulling a face, "I don't want to get a baby, then! That sounds just disgusting." He hopped down from Jonathan's lap, shaking himself as he walked away and towards the living room, and he remembered that his parents had been at the telephone all evening with someone.

When he entered the living room, the sight of his parents sitting about, kissing each other and such (he had gotten that described to him, when he did not understand why they had been pressing their lips against each other), and he stared big eyed and horrified.

"I will put Arthur to bed," Jonathan called to his parents, and Sophie wished them night, and Charles waved them off, and before they had stepped into the foyer, they could hear them whispering to each other, Sophie completely in giggles.

Arthur took a hold on Jonathan's hand as they began to climb the stairs to the second floor, the first floor holding their father and mother's studies and their bedroom. He looked up at his brother and asked, quite softly; "How do you think it would have been if I had asked Francis older brother?" And Jonathan went into a coughing fit and almost went to the floor. Arthur looked at his brother. "Well?"

Jonathan straightened himself, clearing his throat and looked down at Arthur; "It would have been more... explicit." Jonathan and Arthur met eyes, and Jonathan laughed while Arthur pulled a face.

"Why is it that when you get older, everything gets gross?" Arthur asked, and Jonathan thought one moment before shaking his head.

"Not really, sure there are some disgusting bits," he smiled, Arthur jumping up the last step as they began their way to their shared bathroom. "But in honesty, being older seems more free – although you get more responsibility and more work, but that's a part of becoming grown up." Jonathan explained and they went inside the bathroom, preparing for bed. Arthur took his stepping-stool and went to brush his teeth, while Jonathan brushed his red hair.

There were not much of similarities between the two brothers, Arthur noted, looking at his brother through the mirror.

Jonathan was tall (and well, he was 17, so that could explain it) and he was freckled, very much. Red hair like their father, and actually not green eyes like Arthur, their mother, Alice and what he had seen from Cameron's eyes, but really brown – dark brown eyes, which reminded him of the chocolate that his mother used in baking stuff.

They were brothers, but they did not have much of similarity, even though Auntie Jean had said that they were like brothers, in personality.

"Where are you going for Univer- Universy- no, no, wait," Arthur held out a hand, and Jonathan chuckled and he breathed out heavily; "Where are you going for University?" He nodded to his mirrored self, and Jonathan smiled, ruffled his hair.

"First choice is Cardiff; the University there just seem like the spot on for me." Cardiff? Was that in England? Arthur looked up at his brother in confusion, and Jonathan laughed; "It's in Wales."

"What is this pattern," Arthur looked down at the sink, "of you all going to different parts in UK?"

Jonathan scratched the back of his head; "Uh, coincidence? Don't think about it too much, Arthur, it just nothing, okay?" Sure it was nothing for Arthur, he was just so little still, but he was curious about his siblings choices, it was like they all kind of detested England alone, and just wanted to get away by moving into the other countries, and that simply left him devastated.

"Well, are you teeth brushed?" Arthur spit, showing his teeth to Jonathan, who patted his head and nodded; "Good, now – off with your daily clothes and into this comfy night dress!" Jonathan held up the white "dress", and Arthur undressed and slipped the garment over his head and onto his body.

"Good night, Arthur." Jonathan said as he had shuffled Arthur to bed, covered him up and turned off the headlamp, only to turn on the small baby lamp to keep him from the dark.

"Good night, John." They smiled, and Jonathan left Arthur, who fell asleep.

Across the newspaper the next morning, he saw the Berlin wall had been fallen, and at the playground, Gilbert was annoying and kept talking about the Berlin wall with passion. Arthur wanted to play alone.


	7. Smile

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

7. Smile

Characters: Arthur, Alice, Cameron, Niall, William, Jonathan, Sophie, Charles

Word count: 1023

**7**

"You need to smile, Arthur, like this," Alice pointed at her lips that was pulled up in a small smile, showing off her teeth to the world, "it's simple. Now you try it, Arthur." They sat cross-legged in the foyer, their clothes pretty and their hair fixed. Alice was smiling, and Arthur... he looked rather glum.

"I can't, I just can't smile - I mean, it's a camera we are going to smile to!" He pointed towards the living room, which was readied and fixed to a photo shot area as he and Alice practiced smiling – Alice being natural at it, but Arthur felt like he just simply could not smile at all.

"You have a brilliant smile, Arthur." Alice said, resting her hand upon his, smiling to him. He pulled a face at her and looked away from her. "You just have to believe in yourself, sometimes." Alice was smart; Five years old and already a reading horse. Arthur felt like he, himself, would not be able to be what his siblings were; pretty.

Her hands, which was upon his, moved up to his face, caressing his cheeks, smiling at him with such kindness, and Arthur just wants to melt, like an ice cream in the warm summer, but he cannot melt, because he is not an ice cream – and that sounds quite ridiculous.

Arthur sighs, and Alice looks at him with her worried, huge – green – eyes that seemed to hold the colour of moss, and Arthur liked mossy green colours, since it always reminded him of the forest or Alice, in all.

"Arthur," she is whispering, and they are sitting quite close, heartbeats away, and innocently looking at each other, while Alice held his face, looking at him with such serenity. "Just smile, for me?" He avoided her eyes, but... peaking up at her light face, her smiling lips... he kind of wanted to smile truly, like her, in front of everyone without feeling weird about it.

There was just honesty and no lies between the two siblings and for Arthur to actually feel close to someone in his family could have been explained as a rarity.

"You guys," the voice of Cameron came from above them. The tall mountain of a man, with his arms crossed across his chest and the same, fiery hair that their father had – he was like a picture of him. Dad and Cameron were like images of each other, and the only difference was the father's red beard and Cameron's green eyes. "They are readying for the photo."

Arthur stood up, helping Alice up and brushed her dress, trying to remove invisible dust corns that were on it.

Cameron went before them into the room, where loud laughter and chatter could be heard. Arthur and Alice held hands, tightly, and they looked at each other, and Arthur pressed a tiny smile, making Alice stare at him before smiling brightly, taking him in a hug; "You will do great, and you will look great!"

They had not really felt like the family picture would be complete, though, because they were so little, and their siblings were so – well – old.

Their mum sat on the antique couch, patting her lap, and Alice released her hold on Arthur's hand and ran over happily. Arthur came slowly after; settling himself on his mother's left, staring into the camera that was pointed towards them. Alice and mum talked happily between themselves, and Arthur felt _nerve wrecking nervous._

"Are you guys ready?" Charles, _dad_, said as he entered the room, smiling at his children with such a bright, handsome smile – and Arthur was so jealous.

There was a lot of messing around, loud shouts and "hey" going on as the twins tried to get their spots; on the floor. They had shoved Jonathan out, laughing in between themselves, and Cameron was frowning, _hard_, at them as he shoved his foot in their faces.

"Ew, brother!" Niall cried out, pushing the foot away, and inching closer to Arthur's ridged stiff body. Cameron, being mean just for the case of fun, pushed even more at Niall with his foot.

"BOYS!" Mum yelled, scaring both Alice and Arthur, making them stare big eyed at their mother. "Be proper – you are all grown men!" She was a growling lioness, roaring at her cubs, and Arthur could only stare fixated at this.

Cameron only snickered, and went to stand behind the couch together with Jonathan. Jonathan had his hand on Arthur's left shoulder, and Arthur tried to relax, but it seemed to go at his head.

Niall and William were sitting in front of them, both with cheeky grins, their identicalness being so – bothersome. They were like mirrors to each other, and Arthur had always thought that Niall was bad, and that William was even worse when the two was together.

"I expect everyone –," Dad looked especially at Arthur, "- to smile. Remember, we are doing this since we are a family." Always – the same speech every time they did something "family" business like, but still, always in the middle of it, Cameron and Niall would fight (where William would cheer on Niall), Jonathan would call his friend in New Zealand – to talk about sheep – and Alice would jump everywhere, breaking stuff to pieces with her eagerness. Arthur would just sit there, stiff, non-smiling and frowning all the time.

Dad seated himself in the couch on the right of mum, and Arthur gripped mum's dress, a little of a momma's boy. He hated to admit it, but yes – yes he was.

The photographer prepared himself, smiled at them – smiling wrinkles forming by his eyes – and he said in a clear voice as he prepared the camera, trying to make the two youngest in the family laugh with a clown nose placed on his nose, only to properly make Alice snort and Arthur frown.

"CHEESE!"

The photo result were of the four siblings of Arthur were either poking him in the cheek or pulling at them to make him look like he smiled. The photo hung on the living room wall, for everyone to see.


	8. Night

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

8. Night

Characters: Arthur and Francis

Word count: 1051

**8**

They sat close, their breaths mingled, mixed and they stared at each other.

"Do you think it's ok to drop eating night food? Mum will be upset." Arthur whispered, and his friend smiled, placing a finger on his lips before looking around.

Arthur followed his gaze, looking around the small tent they had build in his room, hiding themselves from his mother who had said that if they did not eat food before going to bed, she would force a double breakfast down their throat. They were giggling, laughing, pushing and fighting each other – as usual.

There was only silence now, however, them sitting across each other and rather close. It was silly how they just had not moved at all.

"Do you think there are monsters outside?" Arthur whispered, and Francis laughed, messing Arthur's hair up. "I sometimes can't sleep, since I am a little scared." Arthur admitted to his dear friend, who was just looking at him with an understanding look.

"Me too, but you have to remember that the monsters can't take you as long as you're underneath the covers." Francis reminded him, and the two smiled at each other. Arthur yawned, stretched a bit and begun to crawl out of the blanket fort that the two had built in the middle of his room.

"I am tired – want to sleep?" Francis agreed at once, and they went to the bathroom, sneaking to the bathroom, laughing, pushing and trying to hog the mirror from each other as they brushed their teeth.

Spitting, rinsing, and making their hair proper before throwing off their daily wear, to only jump into a pair of pyjamas.

The two boys got back to the bedroom, crawled inside the blanket fort with one more blanket, because even though it was warm now – it would certainly be colder later on. "We should do this more often." Francis said, covering them both with the blanket, pulling out a book from his rucksack.

"Hum, sure." Arthur replied, reading some comics. There were this shuffling about, small, accidental punches, and hands blocking their readings – which ended up with them fussing about each other, tickling or pinching each other.

"Arthur," Francis began, slowly, making Arthur look at him curiously, his brows furrowed. "I have to tell you something." The blanket fort seemed to shrink for Arthur and for him to stare at his friend's familiar face, the expression he held was almost – sad. Arthur swallowed hard.

"What?" He asked, and Francis almost _sighed, _and the unfamiliar feeling – something unsafe – trickled under the surface of their friendship, and Arthur wanted to push away that feeling, truly. He did not want to fear when staring at his friend.

"Mama," Francis began, looking away, rolling over and settling on the many pillows, almost burying him under them, "Mama and dad have decided to move back to France." Just like that, for Arthur, he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, like that one time he and Antonio had fought, where Antonio had punched him in the stomach – just like that.

"You're kidding right?" Arthur gave off a little laugh, but the lump under the blanket, beneath all the pillows, mumbled out a small "no". There was nothing, nothing wrong with that. Arthur could handle being alone without Francis. He was not completely taken to have his friend still by his side. He had Bella – he did have her...

"Will you come back again?" He asked quietly, and Francis emerged from the pile of pillows, hair sticking in every direction and he looked at Arthur; "Would you like me to?"

"Sure-," Arthur started, looking down and felt a little lost, "I mean, you are my best friend, of course I would want you to come back." Arthur fell in silent, and suddenly felt his friend hug him.

"Then I will promise you that I will return, for you, Arthur." There was no need for more words; nothing – since Arthur felt like he could cry and he did not want to cry, not in front of Francis. He felt weak if he did so, so he suppressed himself from letting go of the feelings and looked up at his dear friend.

"You will come over in the summer, yes?" Arthur whispered, and Francis nodded, and they hugged again, just for the sake of it. It would be strange for Arthur, to go to school alone, without his pestering neighbour and friend, and he would miss Francis, since that boy would always give an outlet for Gilbert and Antonio. Now... he would be there alone with Gilbert and Antonio, ever so bothersome they were for him.

"Will you visit me in France, Arthur?" Francis asked, and Arthur could not hold back his nodding, nodding so eagerly. "We can swim in the Mediterranean Sea in the summer, visit my grandfather's winery, and eat French cuisine and such... it would be nice." Francis said, as the two settled down to sleep, huddling underneath the blanket, trying to keep the warmth from slipping out.

"And make blanket forts..." Arthur whispered, and he closed his eyes, thinking a little. It would be strange without Francis, who was clear as the sun, but would it help him that he wanted to punch his friend for betraying him and leaving him in thoughts of France? Arthur had to shake off that thought. It was just a little over the top, was it not?

"Arthur..." and the summer was nearing its end, and it was ending quickly – too quickly, so before he knew it, he would be older, and he would be even more alone. "I am sorry..." and the understanding feelings lingering in Arthur's chest were never told. He could not tell him them, since there was so much guilt.

"It's alright, Francis..." he breathed out, and in honesty he could not really care, not deeply at least – that he was left behind. He was used to this. All too used for these situations of being alone. "I won't be entirely alone." And he had Bella, and he had Alice – heck, he even had his brothers that lived across the countries, studying math or economic, or whatever.

Silence fell upon them, and summer neared its end, and their friendship was a strange thing; A very strange thing indeed.


	9. Dreams

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

9. Dreams

Characters: Arthur and Charles

Word count: 1064

**9**

"_When I get older,_" he began the homework he had gotten from his teacher, who had to force him to take home the paper, since he did not want to talk about his small dreams, petite dreams that would just go out of the window anyways.

He was sitting, properly, in the kitchen chair, biting his bottom lip in concentration, before sighing loudly, wanting to throw the paper in the wall. He had to write something, just something. It was not that simply as the teacher's made it, making it seem like every kid had big dreams about the future, like becoming a fire fighter or a police officer, but Arthur had problems. He just simply could not find anything to write about.

"_When I get older I wish to be,_" he felt so hopeless and dumb because he could not think of anything. It just simply confused him, actually, since he was like; "No, not that and not this – and yuck, no thank you on that!" He simply could not see any form for dreams getting through any time soon.

"What are you doing?" His father entered the room with, his eyes eyeing the paper in front of Arthur, which had just "when I get older I wish to be," scrawled on it. Arthur looked up at his father, shrugging and pushed the paper away.

"Trying to do homework," He grumped out. His father laughed, strong and sounding like a thunder. Arthur liked his father's laugh, it was calming.

"You need help with it, boy?" He asked, and Arthur watched his father making coffee. The man had put the kettle on, found the box with coffee in and just simply worked quietly as he fixed the cup.

"It would be nice, dad, but what do you know of dreams?" Arthur said, tilting his head, almost feeling so bored.

"Well – not so much, but I have had a few dreams about the future," his father stated, looking up in the ceiling as he thought, "And Arthur, I am sure you will find something to write down. You have always talked about your dreams when you were little, you know." The smile that was on the man's lips was gentle, but not really helpful.

"But I can't write that I want to be a prince and save a princess! That just impossible, you know!" He let out a frustrated sound and sunk down in his chair, looking at the horrid paper that begged to be written on.

"You may be eight years old, Arthur, but you should stop being always so serious." His father said, looking at him from the oven, "Have you thought about maybe writing police or fire fighter?" He suggested.

"Too predictable," it just did not matter anymore. This homework is damned, he thought, almost sinking even more in his chair, feeling like he just simply wanted to flop over and die just over the situation.

"Arthur..." His father held a disappointed tone in his voice, and sighed. "Why is it 'too predictable'? You're eight – these dreams are normal, aren't they?"

"Yes, but..." Arthur fidgeted in his seat, almost toppling over and falling onto the floor. "I try to think like that, but I am not so good at that, you see..."

"You know what Francis wants to then, or perhaps Bella? I have seen you and Bella a lot of times together." He smiled at his son, who quickly became red in his cheek.

"It's not like that..." he mumbled and his father laughed heartily as the kettle whistled and he fixed his cup done. "I would never feel like that for Bella, you would have to be dumb to do so, you know." He was a mess in words, and he knew his father would happily change his words in his head.

"Why would one be dumb if one felt like that for Bella? Bella is a quite handsome girl, yes?" His father simply would not let it go, and Arthur was screaming in his head that his father simply did not understand that she could have been the spawn of the devil, if she wanted.

"Dad, just drop it please, I feel so uncomfortable thinking of my best friend like that..." He propped himself upright in the chair, stared at the paper that laid there in front of him like it was some kind of an evil thing that would leap at him any time and eat his face.

There was no mistake that his father was evil – because his reminder of him and Bella together, was like an old thing he would always do when he was angry at Arthur, or simply wanted to be a jerk at all.

"Well, if not Bella – what about Francis? Have you two talked about what he wants to do?" His father suggested, drinking his drink casually, looking at Arthur like he could read his mind hundred and ten percent sure. Arthur wanted to look away.

"We don't talk too much any longer." Arthur whispered, and his father stared at him like he had just dropped dead and could no longer live.

"What did you just say?" His father was growling, like a tiger, ready to attack at any time – his eyes glaring at him like he had said the foulest thing.

"I am sure he's just busy..." Arthur tried to defend, but his father just did not want any of that, at all. It was like Arthur had added some kind of extra strong fuel to get his father to burn like that.

"Busy, busy – you all say that! Frenchmen are the most-!" His father let out a frustrated sound and stomped out of the kitchen like a four year old. Arthur knew his father did this simply to try and cool himself down and not let Arthur have foul words thrown at him.

Arthur simply looked after him before sighing deeply, and he then knew exactly what he wanted to write. He scribbled it down, his handwriting almost unreadable, but the thing was – whatever the handwriting "may" say, it was more like it was going to have a better outcome than the most.

The day after, his teacher was reading it and said slowly to herself; "That child..."

_When I get older, I want to be a professor, like mum – and I want to live with Francis and Bella._


	10. Breaking the rules

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

10. Breaking the rules

Characters: Arthur, Francis

Word count: 1029

**10**

Just one, he told himself, staring at the tray before him – _just one_. He could take one, which would not such a problem, or? Sneakily, he stole glances around him, trying to pick up the dirty blonde hair of his mother, but no such luck, and he smiled to himself before looking back at the tray.

There were a bustle of life – red heads and a lot of mixture of accents, their English floating about, completely filled with emotions of either happiness or disappointment.

"Did you see her dress? The colour is just so tacky and completely horrid."

"Heard about the groom? He's from an English family, not a Scottish – what even is that girl _thinking_?" Sure enough that his brother, Cameron, was seated next to his newly wedded wife, happiness seeping through every single pore on his skin. Arthur found that quite disgusting.

Well – his attention was not on Cameron, not at all, it was only on that one biscuit that he was eyeing quite the lot. It looked gorgeous in the light from the chandelier and he just wanted to take one – just one – and eat it up with such happiness.

Think what one would; he stood there, looking at it with concentration and determination. He wanted to take it without his mother's agreement on the matter, and even going against her small rule that he could not take one biscuit at all, not one.

There was no denial that he wanted to break what he had promised, with his hands creeping fairly close to just take that one biscuit, eat it and love it so much that he would find a corner and sit there with quite a lot of thoughts about what he had done – if he did it.

He looked to his left, seeing the familiar family in blonde. Giselle, Francis' mum, stood and talked heartily with his Aunt Meredith, and Francis' dad stood and talked with Arthur's dad, and they both seemed like they could strangle each other.

Arthur tried to be small as possible, not letting them see him as something they could easily notice, and he knew that somewhere in the room, Francis was standing dashingly in his clothes and talked with Arthur's little sister.

He just had to take one – just one, and that would be it, and he would run off and not eat one single biscuit again. Or – he could when the food was served, then he could eat one more, but now, there they stood about and talked about the wedding instead of _seating _down like some normal human, they just were talking. Talk on talk, discussing and putting remarks on the couple.

Arthur was hungry. He wanted to eat. Food, just any form for food – that was what he wanted. And indeed would he love to eat some, be it from mum's awful scones and dad's half-cooked fish, he wanted something.

And that something was the biscuit in front of him.

He swallowed hard, licking his drying lips, biting lightly his bottom lip. Just one, was all it took, just take one. _She will not notice,_ he told himself, glancing over his shoulder. It should just be like that – just like that; him with his biscuit.

He gazed back at the biscuit, reaching out his hand towards it just as he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. "Arthur, you shouldn't do that." The voice to Francis scared him making him drop the biscuit he had picked up and turned around.

"Idiot, don't you see that I am trying to feed myself?" He growled, looking around them, before taking in the biscuits again. "If you stop me, I will stop you." He frowned, picked up the biscuit again, opening his mouth to take a bite off of it, just as Francis' hand took a hold of his and led the biscuit to his own mouth and ate it happily.

"_YOU_," Arthur pointed at him, shoved him away, "let me eat, you daft idiot."

Francis was laughing and only laughing, poking his cheek and pulling on his hair a little. "You know, Arthur, your mother would kill you if she saw that biscuit in your mouth." Francis was a teasing machine, saying dumb things to piss off Arthur, which he almost succeeded all the time.

"If you want a place to sleep at tonight, you better stop bothering me, _Bonnefoy_." Arthur hissed, snapping his fingers at the tray of biscuits, picking a new one up, sneaking a glance around the room, placing it by his mouth and bit in it.

It was so delicious. Caramel coated chocolate biscuit with a faint taste of hazelnut, and Arthur was like floating in air. He literally could feel his soul say goodbye because of the biscuit.

"ARTHUR BENJAMIN KIRKLAND!" There was a roar, a monster who yelled across the room, and Arthur turned – face made up in a scared expression as dirty blonde hair and green blazing eyes – the familiarity of his mother – was running up at him with such evil looking hands, and Arthur grabbed Francis hand and ran.

He just had to run, and it kind of was Francis' fault that he had not been able to eat the first one, and that he was caught – somehow – red handed eating a biscuit. And there he ran, through the world of humans lingering about, talking loud mouthed to each other, and Arthur just wanted to get away from that roaring mother who was his mother.

Francis laughter was a bouncing ball in a small room, filled with such fleetingness that it made Arthur kind of jealous, but there they ran on their way through the bodies of people, talking and chatting amongst them – it was only him and Francis.

It was so nice to be a child, it was very nice. The running, the laughter – but everything was changing. They were growing, and Arthur knew somehow that this would be the last time he would see Francis fully in a ten year old body, a boy with a colourful character. Him, only him, and in that moment he ran; it was just dread.

Arthur felt only dread.


	11. Siblings

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

11. Siblings

Characters: Arthur, Charles

Word count: 1236

**11**

He had never been really bothered by the thought that his oldest brother was twenty years older than him, but when he was ten, he was completely taken by the age difference he and his brothers had. So many years seemed to grow between them as he stepped one step closer them.

His father was sitting in his study, stuffing his pipe and read in his usual book; that big business book he always had appointments in. Arthur knocked lightly on the doorframe and his old father looked up, smiling; "Arthur." He said in a quite surprised tone, and Arthur walked over to him, staring at the ground.

"Why did you guys get me?"

"Huh?" His father blinked, completely confused at Arthur's words that had just fell off those lips, who was in a sour pout and eyes looking accusingly at him.

"I asked you; why did you and mum have me?" Arthur was blunt, staring, his hands gripped tightly and he could only stare at his father, who was smoking his pipe with a thoughtful expression.

"I wonder that myself... getting such an ungrateful child." He faked a sob, and laughed out when Arthur yelled out a "hey!" at him, looking like he was about to fly on him. "No, you see... you and Alice were not really planned. You came as a surprise on us, and when you learned to talk, Sophie was pregnant with Alice." He grinned, poking Arthur's forehead. "Don't think too much on it, ok?" He laughed softly.

"Then it's only Alice and I who...?" He looked at his father with questioning eyes, and the answer he got was just even more messed up; "Oh yeah, and Cameron was definitely not planned!" He barked a laugh, "And William was like a second apple surprising on us. You all kind of just came as you went." The talk was so easy; it was like his father was so easy going about these things – which his mother was not.

"Dad..." Arthur's voice was toneless, dead almost, as he stared at his father with a facial expression that spoke that he was not amused, at all.

"But Arthur, why did you even worry about this? You know your mother and I always have a fair share of love." That tone was too light, Arthur mused, too light for being his father. It kind of worried him sometimes when he did not see his parents in a friendly or lovable conversation by weeks passing.

"Are you and mum still going strong?" Arthur wondered to his father, and earned a gentle pat on the shoulder; "Grown-ups have it a lot rougher than you youths. We deal with so many things at once. Did you know that you are going to become an uncle soon? Sophie almost fainted when she got to know she was going to be a grandmother." He chuckled, taking up his coffee cup with the cold coffee and drank it.

Arthur looked around the study, wandering along the wall, looking at the books in the shelves. His father's study was quite small, but it roomed enough with things; a desk and two chairs, shelves against the north-east wall and pictures adoring the south-west wall, pictures of the family. The black and white pictures were so strange in addition to the coloured pictures that adored the living room. Cameron was on most pictures; in his first school uniform, cycling, hanging out with Francis' older brother and graduation photos. Niall and William, though, were only in three photos, where they were graduating, in their upper secondary uniform and hugging their mother. Jonathan was adored in pictures together with another boy who Arthur did not know, so he took down the picture and walked over to his father, who patted on his pipe.

"Who is this?" Arthur said, holding up the picture and his father laughed while patting Arthur's head.

"That's Jonathan's friend from New Zealand. The two of them would sit out in the garden whenever it was sun out and talk about sheep." He explained, taking the picture from Arthur, smiling; "Wow, how young they were."

"Why is John so – I don't know – enthusiastic about sheep?" He had been very curious about it, for a quite a long time, and now he could just ask him, his father. His father had to know something, right?

"I wonder why, myself. I think it has to do with the stories your mother used to tell him about the sheep lord and a princess. She always made up stories that had elements of sheep." He shook his head, "And I think it kind of grew on him, and when we went to Australia to visit my brother, he met Jack – that New Zealand boy – and they found the tone quickly in talk about _sheep_." He shook his head.

"Oh, so that's why... Can you explain me the relationship between Cameron and Francis' brother?" He settled down on the floor and looked up at his father, wanting to know almost everything about his brothers he never really talked to.

"Cameron and Sébastien were both rude to each other, went together to school and was like twins when they got together to bother others." His father took and stuffed anew his pipe, and looked around the room. "They would often fight whenever they wanted to release some tension. It wasn't until they were off to University that Sébastien and Cameron acknowledged their friendship." He breathed out, sighing and lit the pipe. "They were a little strange together, at times they would fight, but at other times they would laze around and talk about stuff, mainly girls when they entered Upper Secondary School." He chuckled. "They usually talked about this one girl, if I remember correctly, and that caused such fights. It was hilarious to see Cameron walking behind Sébastien when Sébastien stomped to the entrance, and they would shout towards each other in such an old married couple."

"What happened to Sébastien? He wasn't at Cameron's wedding." Arthur piped in, and his father stopped up, the sound of him breathing heavily filled the room.

"Sébastien went to France to study, and he got his years and moved in with a French girl. They lived in Paris at that time, and if I remember correctly from what Giselle had said to your mother, he was in an accident." His father explained, and Arthur stared wide eyed at his father.

"Accident?" He whispered.

"Killed."

"Oh..." He looked down, gripped onto his own thighs.

"Well – Niall and William are different, they grew up together, and Niall grew more independent from us, while William is more dependent on us and Niall." His father said, breathing in deeply. "Niall, being the stupid boy, just had to go about and cut us all out." The angry tone in his father's voice scared Arthur a little, and he looked up at his father, who cursed out about Niall, thumping his hand in the desk. "Bloody hell that child was even more ungrateful than you. Always complaining and fighting, and he even had to run away like the boy he was when he finally turned eighteen. How he broke his mother's heart!"

"Uhm, dad, you're breaking the desk..." Arthur said, trying to calm down his father, who only hit even harder as he cursed Niall's name.

Siblings... Arthur could only shake his head over them all.


	12. Puzzle

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

12. Puzzle

Mini-note from author: Been busy lately, but will start writing again in the winter vacation. I have not dropped it.

Characters: Arthur

Word count: 1041

**12**

It was Christmas, and he was sitting on his bedroom floor, drawn in on the puzzle pieces that laid spread all over the floor, the box adoring a picture of the Eiffel tower in Paris, his only wish to get the puzzle done was like pounded in his head over time.

He was biting his bottom lip, staring at the different pieces with such intensity that he thought they would catch on fire. Fingers ran over them, looked at them as they fitted to the pair that was made for them, and Arthur wondered faintly what his friend was doing in France at the moment as he slipped yet another piece perfectly on place.

Christmas had been quiet and calm, and Arthur did not like it so much because he was used to have noise around himself – his brothers were all kind of away. Last he had heard was that Jonathan was having fun in New Zealand with a friend, and that one of the oldest twin had gone and was not even in contact anymore, while his two other brothers were doing family stuff at their own houses, with their partners and what not's.

He also missed Francis, had not heard from him much since he had moved to France. He was curious and he did not like to admit it, actually – that he was kind of jealous or envying Francis for getting to live in France, a romantic and lovely country.

London was cold and wet, not really the Christmas he had hoped for. He had wished for snow, a lot of it, and yet it had begun to fall wet, yucky snow from the greying, darkening sky above them – making the snow that already was even wetter. He had begged to go out to slide with his sled, but his mother had disapproved that and gotten him to the Church for some good measure.

"God is the only living inside of us human," he mumbled, pushing yet another piece on place, nearing the completing of the puzzle in front of him. He nibbled on his bottom lip and gazed out the window with a longing gaze; "And we must find Him in us before death will make us suffer." He did not know why he would say these things to himself, but in honesty that was how he felt. He would give in to the suffering if he did not know where the Lord was.

Pieces lying in front of him, their shapes shifting as his eyes were laid upon them and he knew of fairytales that were better than his ability to put another piece at its proper place and his fingers ran over the pieces before he found yet another to fit to place in the yet-to-be completed image of the Eiffel tower, which brought him to think of his stupid French friend and the stupid moving, and "UGH!" He sounded rather aloud as he smacked both his hands in the floor.

Why did he stay stuck here while his friend had most likely forgotten him? He breathed out and focused on the unfinished image before closing his eyes. Had Francis forgotten him?

"I hope that I didn't lose him as a friend..." he whispered to himself, kind of in a defeat that Francis may have already forgotten him, and he was just simply reminded that he was almost friendless. "I only have him and Bella... I can't stand losing him..." he bowed his head down to meet forehead against the puzzle pieces and tried to shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

Focusing, deciding and forcing himself to look, he gazed over the pieces; rather offended over such a thing could make him waver in so many emotions. It was rather embarrassing to say the least. He had not expected that he was so alone and that the other children in the neighbourhood – Antonio and Gilbert – were the least to say idiotically remarkable as rude and offensive. He found it a lot more embarrassing being with them than it was to cry onto puzzle pieces.

"I am so dumb; I should stop being such a dummy and focus." He whispered angrily to himself as he smacked his hands – palms down – onto the pieces, making some jump from the small gust of wind that he made.

Lifting his hands up, turning his palms to look at them, he saw lingering pieces sticking to his somehow sweaty hands and he felt annoyed. Brushing them away, he stood up from the floor and kicked at the puzzle that lied completely innocent on the floor, not even trying to harm him as it was just a lifeless part of his life.

He huffed, stomping his feet and screamed a little, before he heard the loud; "_Arthur, keep it down!_" He was annoyed and angry, and his father's hushing and calming from the hallway downstairs, made him feel like everything did take a turn on him.

Anger grew in him, it became something he could not really explain – the burning that gnawed in his very own skin begged to be acknowledged, to be used and to be a part of him – was building up in his chest. It moved, danced in tact with his thumping, beating heart and he wished to acknowledge it, but fear was stronger.

Fear gripped onto his shoulders, made him buckle underneath the heaviness was burdening and he wanted for so long, so much – to see and to hear something else than the fear that whispered into his ear and made him fall to his knees, his hands meeting the floor and he gasped as so many feelings came crashing upon him. Was he scared or was he angry? He breathed out in ragged, gasping breaths, and it was like a very thought had planted itself in his head and nested itself up in his irrational fear of being along and the anger that he was alone bubbling just beneath that surface. He wished of nothing more than to forget it all.

He wanted to forget him, too. Forget Francis, he told himself, over and over again. Forget him.

As he whispered these words, the forgotten puzzle was already a part of his memory.


	13. Flowers

**Tongues Tied and Hundred Themes**

13. Flowers

Word count: 1091

Author's note: Been a little busy, and I am on a hiatus, but I am still writing.

Characters: Arthur, Bella, Francis

**13.**

She was running in front of him, laughing with such glee and happiness, her hands running over the tulips as she ran. Arthur could see how her summer dress moved as she ran, and the wind that made her hair dance so prettily, moving over tanned and freckled shoulders. This was like a dream for him to see, seeing her be at the top of the world – beauty shining through the everlasting world to see.

"Come on Arthur – you are such a snail!" She laughed at him with such a pearly laugh, her teeth white and her lips plump and red, her eyes shining with such happiness that made Arthur feel like he was tripping on his shoes and falling forward.

Wait... he had tripped and he was falling, and the world was tumbling together and Bella's facial expression was very comically – at least that is what Arthur is thinking as he falls with his hands in front of him and Bella running towards him with almost a shriek in her throat.

White fabric, visible in his eyesight and freckled hands grabbing a hold of his shoulders, bouncing laughter heard. It was kind of amazing to think that Bella was there in front of him, her dress so beautifully fitting for her and those green eyes curiously taking his in a stare, and they smiled to each other.

"You are such a klutz, Arthur." She laughs, and Arthur cannot get tired of how her words always rolls out, dipped in some sort of sharp edges, but suiting for her – oh God. What was he thinking? He pushed himself up again, turning a little to the side, trying to hide his reddening cheeks. Was he really going to think about those stupid feelings right now? Those that made his tummy nervous, filled with butterflies and... Yuck. He made a grimace and turned back to Bella, held out his dirtied hand for her.

"I will race you."

"Are you sure you can beat me?" Bella asked, taking a hold of his hand and got up wobbling a little on her feet and she brushed her hands over her dress.

"Never underestimate me." He simply said, releasing his hold on her hand and readying himself to race through the field tulips, knowing fully and well that they would later get a mouthful from her grandfather, but he could not care less. He was happily with Bella.

"_Guys!_" A faint shout from the main house, and Arthur grabbed a hold of Bella's arm and started running. Bella laughed and followed him, keeping up with his speed. They ran as quick as they could, the scent of flowers being something that never would leave Arthur's nostrils ever again. "_Guys, please wait!_" The boy behind them yelled, and Arthur kept tugging at Bella's arm and Bella kept laughing. Their feet thudded against the ground as they started to climb up the small hilltop, trying to keep away from the other boy.

Arthur was selfish, he would rather say; wanting to keep Bella for himself, never sharing her with anyone else, not even his childhood friend could even get to her. He breathed heavily as they got to the top of the small hill, and Bella stopped in her tracks, still laughing. "Oh man, Arthur..." She voiced and the two of them were greedily gulping in air, trying to be steady on their feet.

The two dropped down on their bums on the soft ground, and Arthur released his hold on Bella's arm with a "Sorry" mumbled out and he took a swift look over at her before gazing stubbornly at the field.

Netherland was beautiful, Arthur concluded as he sighed deeply, drawing his knees up to his chin, resting his head against them. The fields with flowers were always such a prettiness in his mind, and this summer – this very own summer that he had together with Bella and Francis – was seemed to last forever, although he knew it would end soon enough.

Looking a little to his left, he saw blond hair appearing up the hill, blue eyes looking at him with such childish anger that he could not keep his laughter in check.

"Arthur!" The French boy hollered and jumped at him. Dirty hands were grabbing onto his collar, shaking him a little. "I yelled at you guys to wait for me." Francis said in an angry manner, his eyes squinting at him. Arthur gave a laugh, and Bella laughed with in the background.

"Francis... relax," Bella said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder, and Arthur noted her shaking shoulders as she fought not to laugh, "We just wanted to have some fun." She smiled to him, squeezing his shoulder a little, but Francis did not really seem happy with the reason, and Arthur sighed and shoved the older off him and stood up.

Sometimes the summers seemed to last forever, and that seemed like a nice dream for Arthur. Spending two months with pretty weather together with his best friends in another country, completely different from England all together – that was kind of like heaven, he concluded.

Stretching lazily, he moved himself a little back and forth to his friends' amusement. "So, what should we do then?" He asked the two of them, and Bella leant forward, her blonde, shoulder-length hair grazing her cheeks and was slightly curled up – and she looked like these angels that his mum would place out during Christmas. Her lips parted slightly and the corners were bent up in a small smile as she whispered; "We could always go swimming."

"Yeah!" Francis jumped up and grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, but they had not really thought over Arthur's wobbling, weak knees as they toppled over and before they knew it, they were on the ground and rolling down the hill. Bella was shrieking with laughter on top of it, and Arthur clung to Francis in fear of rolling off into the field of flowers, not wanting to be the tulips last stand while rudely rolling over them. And still, as they neared the flowers, Arthur could simply listen to the sound of the wind whispering in his ears and he gripped even more on Francis' shirt.

"You are so dead!" Arthur screamed as they rolled down, and the loud laughter from Francis told him that he just had to bring up the challenge, and with the scent of tulips in the air and the childish death threats after a sun blond boy; Arthur was once again running.


End file.
